A Quilt of Many Colors
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: She lets her hand rest over one of the patches of off-white silk, almost feels warmth seep from the fabric, smells the scent that seems to have irrevocably permeated the fibers. Hears the familiar tinkle of laughter that's been missing from her life for so long.


**A Quilt of Many Colors**

* * *

She takes the quilt out of the gift box once more, spreads it across her bed, checking seams and trims, running her fingers over the fabric. The varied textures dance beneath the whorls of her fingertips, satin and some silk, and cotton softened by many washings; some corduroys here, a bit of velvet there. No fleece, she hates fleece. Not that she'd have had that atrociousness in her treasured collection of textiles anyway.

Glasses perched at the tip of her nose she leans closer, inspects the soft, buttery-yellow edging she'd trimmed around the quilt, picking at a loose thread. Eyes running across the expanse of her work, she follows the flow of the pattern as it circles and swirls, like waves rolling onto the shore or birds soaring in the sky; like lovers swaying on a dance floor. She's used small squares, pale pastels and light colors at the edges and then darkening shades toward the middle, as if the colors are melting deeper and deeper into the center of the quilt.

She nods, satisfied. She may be old now – quirky, they call her behind her back (it's not like she doesn't know; she wasn't born yesterday!) – and her hands are shaking but she can still stitch a mean quilt. It was quite a bit of work, took her months to finish, ever since the invitation arrived in the mail, in fact, but what else has she got to do all day?

At last, Theresa lets her hand rest over one of the patches of off-white silk scattered with printed, tiny ladybugs, and for a short moment she almost feels warmth seep from the fabric, smells the scent that seems to have irrevocably permeated the fibers. Hears the familiar tinkle of laughter that's been missing from her life for so long.

She sinks heavily into her rocking chair, sends it to swing with the tip of her toe pushing off against the carpet. She's got a bit of time, so she lets her eyes fall closed, drifting into her memories.

She misses her today. She misses her most days; the sadness like a dull roar, always present but it's stronger today, like her spirit is hovering by Theresa's side, intent to partake. Her little Josie-Jo.

She was always more like a daughter to her, Johanna was, than a baby sister. She'd been nineteen when her sister had been born; a surprise to their parents who'd not been blessed with another child after Theresa. She supposed that their mother had had some fertility issues, not that she would've ever spoken of it openly. But Theresa had loved her scrumptious baby sister from the start, had carted her everywhere, taking her skating and for ice-cream and to crazy Broadway plays that momma wouldn't have approved of, had she ever found out, which of course she didn't. Such a beautiful, bright spirit she'd been, her Johanna.

The ringing doorbell startles her from her reverie and she hoists herself up, her knees crackling like popcorn in a microwave. She surreptitiously folds the quilt back into the box, laying the small photo album on top before she closes the lid and hoists the gift box under her arm. The bell rings once more but she isn't hurried; the car service will wait for her, it's been pre-paid.

Her son ordered it, insistent that she not drive. That suits her just fine; she's planning on partaking generously in the spirits today.

* * *

She taps her toes in rhythm with the modern, rather lively music that fills the ballroom. She wishes she could still join in the fun; she was quite the dancer, back in the day, but her hips no longer allow her. Instead she watches the couples sway and swirl across the gleaming dance floor, bathed in the gay twinkle of what seems to be thousands of fairy lights while she sips at her Sloe Gin Collins, her eyes returning frequently to the happy couple in their midst.

The dress swirls around Katherine's ankles; she imagines she can almost hear the white fabric rustling as she moves in Richard's arms. His broad palm rests against her lower back, his thumb mindlessly caressing her spine, making her arch into his touch. Their foreheads sink together every so often, like a private conversation between them that needs no words, their faces limned with smitten smiles and eyes only for each other.

She's hit by a pang of want for her Harold, long gone now, who'd held her just like that when they'd danced; and how protected she had felt even while her spirit had railed against the sentiment, trying to assert its independence at all costs.

She sighs. How she wishes Johanna was here with them, could see the bright joy that seems to just radiate from her only daughter. Their little Katie-bug, all grown up now. She looks so happy, that gorgeous smile sparkling, bright like sunshine. Theresa hasn't seen that smile for far too long, not since Johanna had left them, and she's so glad it's back, so thankful to that handsome writer of hers for bringing it back. She approves of him; he makes her niece happy, and it doesn't hurt that he's rather well off. Not that she couldn't take care of herself just fine, but it is comforting to know that their Katherine won't ever want for anything. And it's not like Theresa had ever _actually_ believed that drivel they'd been writing in the papers...

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Auntie Theresa," Katherine smiles, embracing her, and Theresa squeezes her tightly for a few moments longer, remembering the chubby little baby girl, the compassionate child, the lanky, free-spirited teen she'd been in her journey to becoming the accomplished woman who stands before her now.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," she murmurs before she pulls away. "Congratulations, Katherine."

"Thank you," the younger woman grins brightly, and Theresa holds her niece at arm's length, her hands still clasping Katherine's slim fingers as she lets her eyes travel the length of the gorgeous dress.

"Look how beautiful you are!" She reaches up, curves her palm around Katherine's cheek, her thumb caressing her cheekbone. Such a contrast, she thinks, her bony, arthritic fingers against the young woman's vibrant, smooth skin.

"Your mother would be so proud of you; so very happy..."

Katherine's eyes well through her smile and for a long minute they just look at each other, lost in shared memories. Then she sniffles and Theresa lets go, sinking back into her chair.

"Come sit with me, I brought you a gift," she orders, patting the chair next to hers. "You too, young man." She looks up at Richard from under her glasses, and he grins charmingly, dutifully sits down. His hand immediately curves around Katherine's back, fingers splayed at her waist as if he can't stand a moment without touching his wife, and the sweet gesture pleases her immensely.

She pushes her gift box at the couple, nervously chews her bottom lip as her niece lifts the lid and carefully rustles through the tissue paper.

"Wait!" She grabs for the photo album before Katherine can lift it from the box, tugs it to her chest. "The other one first!"

Her heart pounding, she watches as Katherine tugs the quilt from the confines of the box, reverently unfolds as much of it as possible across the table.

"It's beautiful," she breathes, her eyes wide, pupils dancing as she takes in the design, the spill of color. "It's almost like..."

"Yours, yes," she nods. When Johanna was finally pregnant with Katie, after waiting for so long, they'd sat together, she and Josie-Jo, picked fabrics and colors and laid out a design, and then Theresa had sewn a quilt for her as-of-yet unborn niece. It had been the first one she'd ever made.

"See here," she leans forward, points at a pale yellow cotton square. "This is from the outfit you wore when she brought you home from the hospital." Katherine gasps audibly, her index finger hovering above the fabric, as if she's afraid to actually touch it.

"And this one is from the dress you wore on your first birthday." She traces over a pink satin square. "You could only wear it once; your momma loved it so much, she just had to have it for you, but it was a summer dress; quite inappropriate in the middle of winter..."

She hears the suppressed sniffling beside her, pats her niece's hand consolingly. "Now here," she finds the piece of burgundy corduroy, "this is from the pair of pants you wore when you fell off your bike and broke your leg when you were six, remember that?"

Katherine nods. "They had to cut the pants off my legs, I remember."

"But your mother kept the shredded thing, brought it to me to keep. She brought me all these..." She trails off, sweeps her palm across the expanse of the quilt. "It was always the plan that we'd do this again, for when you'd have your first baby."

Katherine watches her solemnly, tears brimming in her niece's eyes as she valiantly tries to hold them back and it's like a punch to her weathered stomach, how much the girl looks like her mother. Those same cheekbones and the arch of her eyebrows, the eyes that change color depending on her mood, almost bottle-green with sadness.

She shakes it off, doesn't want the day to be weighed down by more heartbreak; Josie-Jo would not approve. "Here, see this one?" Theresa points at the pale silk with the ladybug print. "This is from a maternity blouse. She wore that one on her due date - the one you stubbornly ignored!"

She glares at the girl from the side and Katherine giggles. "It's why we call you Katie-bug, actually. Did you know that?"

Katherine shakes her head no, her index finger trailing around the edges of the silk patch as if hypnotized, over and over.

"She was glaring at her belly, as if she could force you to come out by sheer will alone. She meant to say your name, I guess, but she must've been staring at the ladybugs for too long and out came 'Katie-bug' instead. And when you were born you were this cute little thing with these huge eyes and chubby cheeks, and I don't know, it just stuck."

Katherine's fingers linger reverently against the piece of fabric, her husband's hand curled atop hers, seeming to lend her some much needed strength as he speaks. "What about the album?"

"Oh right!" She almost forgot; how silly of her. She really doesn't appreciate this part of getting older, not a bit. Especially after she'd had to rummage through all those boxes in the dusty attic. Laying the photo album on top of the quilt, she flips it open to the first page.

"These are all the photos I could find of Johanna or you wearing the clothes that I used in the quilt..." She trails off, sighing at the first photograph of her Josie-Jo, huge belly protruding, wearing the ladybug blouse and a wide grin that stretched across her swollen face.

And then Katherine really is crying; sobbing quietly into a white handkerchief, and Theresa pulls her into her arms, her throat clogged with the shared heartbreak and yet at the same time filled with such joy that she can still hold a part of her Johanna in her arms.

She hums soothing sounds, her own tears running quietly down her cheeks.

"I miss her so much," Katherine weeps into her shoulder.

"I miss her too, my darling. Every day."

Her niece sniffs away the remnants of her tears as she pulls away, leaning back into Richard who immediately folds his arms around her, letting her sink against his chest. "Will you tell us all the stories," she asks, "for each of the pieces you used in the quilt?"

Theresa nods, her heart soaring at how seamlessly Katherine has included her lovely husband into her request, sharing her family, her history with him as if he'd never _not_ been a part of her. "Of course, Katherine."

"Thank you, Auntie," she smiles, her fingers playing with the edge of the quilt. "This is amazing; the best wedding present we've received." Richard nods, smiling gratefully.

Theresa hums knowingly. She wouldn't be so sure of that; not that they'd be aware of it yet. But she has a sense for these things and she's rarely ever wrong.

"Now you take good care of that," she orders sternly, patting the quilt before she leans forward, presses her hand over Katherine's middle. "It's for your baby girl."

"Aunt Theresa, I'm not pregnant."

"Just you wait, my child." She grins mischievously, patting Katherine's hand. "Just you wait."

_FIN_


End file.
